


I Belong To You

by telanaris



Series: Arcana One-Shots [9]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: AU: book xi didn't happen, F/M, Fix-it fic, Masquerade, Mostly Fluff, and Julian is innocent and allowed to be happy, lil bit smutty at the end, splashing around in the fountain, ticklish Julian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 14:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14813135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telanaris/pseuds/telanaris
Summary: A bird—perhaps that infernal cockatoo—cries out in the night, its voice echoing among the treetops of the palace gardens. The greenery stretches far beyond the castle, dark and quiet, sheltered from the din of the Masquerade celebrations. Julian’s gaze follows the sound of the bird call, and his eye gleams.Aredhel recognizes it at once as the look he gets when he’s set on some mischief.“Say, there’s a fountain somewhere around here, isn’t there?” Julian asks, turning back to her. Words punctuated by his signature brow waggle, he adds, “Want to go for a little dip?”





	I Belong To You

**Author's Note:**

> “What say we grab some Golden Goose and splash around in the fountain together?”  
> ^a fluffy one-shot inspired by this gem of a line from Heart Hunter, and also because Book XI has me feeling all kinds of sad and I need to fix it

In all the time she’s known him— _still less than two weeks,_  she thinks, though it feels much longer—she’s never, until now, seen Julian get overwhelmed in a crowd.

It is one of the things she most loves about him. Being around other people… it brings him alive. Lead him to a crowded room and before you know it, there he is, front and center of attention without even trying, telling a rib-cracking joke or some exaggerated, epic story of one of his adventures. 

Here, on the palace grounds, on the first night of the Masquerade, he’s in as fine form as ever. He’s regaling the modest crowd that’s gathered around him with one of his pirate stories, how they’d commandeered the spice ship he had arranged safe passage on, and how he talked his way out of a beheading—though the story’s become a little more dramatic since the last time she heard him tell it. It’s probably the influence of the throng around him, the eager smiles and focussed attention of his audience.

He’s been spinning yarns for them nearly an hour, now. Julian had attracted more than a few admirers, after his trial in the Coliseum. And now that he has been freed, his innocence proven—now that he will no longer hang—he cannot go anywhere without being recognized. (It does not help that it is so easy to pick him out in a crowd—his height makes him an easy target.) People want to congratulate him, pat him on the back, get things signed— _souvenirs_ of the occasion of his acquittal—he’s become something of a celebrity. 

Aredhel is not in the least bit surprised.  _Who would not love him, that is fortunate enough to know him?_  she thinks, with a smile. It’s a little crazy, sure, with all these people clamoring for his attention, but probably, in the coming days, the madness will die down. 

And if not? Well… Julian’s made no secret of the fact he wants to sneak her away, out onto the open ocean, to the shores of distant Nevivon. They are going to travel to all the places he always said he’d take her, having grand adventures, meeting new people, nights spent in comfortable laughter—she will follow him to the ends of the earth and back, wherever he leads her. Even in those far-off destinations, he probably won’t be able to help making a spectacle of himself, but it won’t be the same as it is here, now, when everyone in Vesuvia knows his name.

After a whole day of it, however, Julian’s energy is waning. It’s… a lot to digest. That morning he had been mere steps from the hangman’s noose, only to be vindicated, his sentence vacated at the last moment. It’s all happened so fast, it’s enough to give a man whiplash.

“Which is when I said, ‘Wait! I’m a doctor! And that foot of yours looks gangrenous!’”

The raucous laughter of the crowd gathered around him carries across the palace grounds as he finishes the story. But instead of launching immediately into another tale, Julian raises his head over the crowd. He catches Aredhel’s eye from across the courtyard and jerks his head suggestively away from the throng. 

It’s uncharacteristic, for him to withdraw from such a rowdy fray, but she can tell he needs a break. After so many years of hiding, of being hunted, it is probably hard for him to adjust to being so universally  _beloved._

She watches him back out of the ring of admirers, throwing his arm out behind him to wrap a hand around the neck of a chilled bottle of Golden Goose. It takes apologies, promises, and a few quick-witted jokes before Julian is able to fully extricate himself from the group, but soon he meets Aredhel on the fringes of the celebration.

“Aredhel,” he breathes. A worn smile—exhausted, but relieved—stretches across his face. “There you are. How are you finding the festivities, dear? Enjoying yourself, I hope?”

“It really is something,” Aredhel replies, casting her gaze over the many merchant vendors and food stalls that line the palace courtyard. The scents of exotic cuisines fill the air, and the sounds of music and laughter rise into the night, echoing against the palace walls and down the hillside, into the city. Night has fallen; the grounds are lit with paper lanterns of every color and description, casting the celebration in a warm glow. “Nadia really spared no expense.”

Julian laughs, loud and unreserved. “If you think this is lavish, you should have seen the Masquerade when Lucio still lived. Trust me, Aredhel, this is positively  _puritanical_  by comparison.” 

But as the grin fades off his face, his weariness becomes all the more evident. It has been a long day for the both of them, but Julian seems almost embarrassed about it, to be tuckered out so early in the night. He reaches for her hand and draws it to his face, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“If you don’t mind, though, I thought we could go for a walk. Get away, breathe a bit. You know me, I  _love_ a party. But this—this is, uhh…”

“A little overwhelming?” she offers.

“ _Yes_ ,” Julian replies, emphatically. He’s still looking at her apologetically, as though he expects her to be reluctant to leave the party (she is not) but there’s a trace of relief on his face, too—he does not need to explain himself to her. She knows already, could tell from twenty feet away that he was wearing thin. “After so long thinking I…”

But his words fail him—a rare occurrence. He had spent so long thinking there was no future for him but death, a capital punishment for a crime he did not commit. Those old convictions seem so foolish to him now that they almost do not bear repeating aloud. 

As he searches for the words to express himself, he runs the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. “Ironic, isn’t it? Bet you never thought I’d come to appreciate the quiet.”

A bird—perhaps that infernal cockatoo—cries out in the night, its voice echoing among the treetops of the palace gardens. The greenery stretches far beyond the castle, dark and quiet, sheltered from the din of the Masquerade celebrations. Julian’s gaze follows the sound of the bird call, and his eye gleams. 

Aredhel recognizes it at once as the look he gets when he’s set on some mischief.

“Say, there’s a fountain somewhere around here, isn’t there?” Julian asks, turning back to her. Words punctuated by his signature brow waggle, he adds, “Want to go for a little dip?”

A trip to the fountain sounds delightful. It is the peak of summer, after all, and even after sunset, the air is stifling. Aredhel laces their fingers tighter together, leans upwards onto her toes to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “That sounds great. Let’s go.”

By now, after two weeks of sneaking around right under Nadia’s nose (and smuggling Julian off the palace grounds, after she’d glamoured him and snuck him  _in_ ) Aredhel knows her way around the gardens pretty well. She walks at Julian’s side in a comfortable silence; he swings their clasped hands gently between them, humming a tune under his breath. 

Aredhel hears the fountain before she sees it, the musical, soothing sound of water falling. Another few paces and they’ve rounded into the clearing, the dappled, mirrorball light of the fountain sparkling on the arms of the giant willow tree that stretches above. And perhaps it’s just a trick of the night but here, beside the fountain, the air actually  _does_  feel slightly cooler.

“Ahh. Our own little oasis, tucked away from the chaos,” Julian proclaims, delighted. He flashes Aredhel a winning grin. “It’s perfect. I love it.” 

Julian drops himself onto the edge of the fountain, and here, his exhaustion plainly shows; he lands a little harder than expected, and the impact knocks a soft little “ _oof_ ” out of him before he crosses his legs to wrestle off his boots. He unbuckles the boots’ garters, then works them (slowly, patiently) down his calves. But Aredhel, in simple flats, only has to slip her feet out of her shoes before she throws her legs over the lip of the fountain and submerges them into the cool water.

It really  _is_  a beautiful spot, she thinks. The water is refreshing. The willow fronds sway gently in the summer breeze. Overhead, in the sliver of sky she can make out between the tree tops, the stars shine brightly. She can appreciate it’s loveliness now in a way she hasn’t been able to before—in the past, she’s only really been here when she’s been dodging the palace guards… or racing after them, trying to track them down as she had when Nadia had stolen the card from Asra’s Arcana.

Julian kicks off his second boot with a muffled grunt, then turns around and slides his feet into the cool fountain water with a satisfied hiss. His head falls forward in relief; through the water, she can see his long toes wiggling, reveling in their newfound freedom. It’s too easy to reach for him, her hand resting on his back, just below his shoulder. She scratches lightly with her nails at the spot she knows, by now, is most prone to itch.

The gesture drags a satisfied groan out of Julian’s mouth, and a smile curves his lips as he closes his eyes. The tension slowly leaves his body, shoulders drooping, the muscles in his back relaxing. By the time he flashes her a grateful grin, he’s much looser than before. 

“Ah! Almost forgot,” he exclaims, leaning over the lip of the fountain to fish the bottle of Golden Goose out of the tall grass. The bottle sweats in the warm night air, condensation beading on its elegant, long neck. 

They haven’t a bottle opener, but this poses little challenge to Julian. He pulls his knife out of his pocket and slowly, at an angle, slides the blade full into the cork. Judging by the practiced movements of his hand, this isn't the first time he’s had to resort to such unorthodox methods. As he begins to twist the knife in his hand, slowly drawing the cork out of the bottle, he passes her a sly, sidelong glance.

“You know, everything’s happened so fast, I didn’t really get a chance to thank you.”

“Thank me for what?”

Julian’s hands still; he looks up at her, eye wide, blinking. “For what?” he repeats, incredulously. “Aredhel, for  _everything._  Believing in me even when I didn’t, coming with Portia to give me that much needed kick-in-the-ass in the Raven, helping me find my answers… proving my innocence!” For a moment he's a rare sight—at a loss for words—smiling at her with a mixture of pride and affection. Then he shrugs, speechless, turning his attention back to the bottle in his lap. Another twist of his wrist and the cork comes free with a pop. Julian offers Aredhel the first taste, holding the bottle out towards her as the liquor fizzes, bubbles rushing up the bottle’s neck, threatening to spill over. “Honestly, I don’t know what would have happened to me if I hadn’t met you.”

Aredhel accepts the bottle from him, taking a sip before her frown has a chance to settle on her face, before Julian can catch even a glimpse of it. She does not want to be thanked. It’s not because she’s particularly humble—of her more admirable qualities, modesty certainly isn’t one of them. No, it’s more that she’s already gotten all she wished for. He is alive, innocent,  _safe_ … she needs nothing more. Not gratitude, nor favors, nor gifts. 

Just him. 

And to her heart’s delight, against all odds, she  _has him_. He has already given her so much, what more could she possibly want? To ask for anything else would be excessive—an act of darkest avarice. 

She takes a second, longer swig from the bottle—the liquor tastes of honey, with distinct floral undertones— _lavender_?—before she hands it back to him. “Don’t let it weigh on you, Julian,” she tells him, her voice soft. “The way I see it, we’re basically even—I am just as indebted to you for what you’ve done for me.”

“ _Even_? Ha!” Julian’s bark of laughter rings out across the gardens. “And tell me, what is it that I have done as repayment for all your selflessness, your generosity? Led you into danger—nearly dragged you into not one but  _two_  knife fights—risked your safety time and time again…” he huffs—in disbelief, in derision—before he takes another sip of the Golden Goose. “It is kind of you, to pretend otherwise, but I know that I have a lot to make up for. I’ve put you through so much pain and danger, and you…” he laughs again, lightly, more out of amazement than amusement. “You saved me, anyway.”

She leans into him, bumping her shoulder lightly against his. “But you did, too. Save me.” She pries the liquor bottle out of his hands to take another sip, tilting the bottle back, using the time to consider her words. The Golden Goose is cold and sweet on her tongue, in her throat, and it makes her… dizzy, lightheaded, and effervescent as the liquor, bubbling with how undeniably fond she has become of him. Hopeless, really, in the face of what he has come to mean to her.

Loose-lipped and in love.  

“Before you showed up, it was like I was… living in a dream. Waiting for my life to start. I don’t know.” She shrugs, casting her eyes down at her feet, distorted by the rippled surface of the fountain water. “Since I lost my memories I feel like I’ve had very little choice. Like I was just being… swept up in this current.” 

Living with Asra. Working in the shop. Staying in Vesuvia. She understands that there are reasons she has lived her life this way. Many of those reasons may have been ones she recognized herself, in a past she can no longer recall. She has lived this life for so long without really questioning it. It isn’t that she has not enjoyed it, at times—found beauty in it, even warmth—but she’s never really had the opportunity to do anything else.

“Choosing to help you, to… to  _trust_  you, to feel for you, even though you kept warning me that I shouldn’t…” she raises her gaze to the statue that crowns the fountain. Grins, thinking of Julian those first few days. How he had warned her, endlessly, that he would hurt her, how he had tried to push her away—how she, stubbornly, and pushed her way into his life anyway. She passes him a sidelong glance, holds the bottle out towards him. “It gave me an agency I feel that I have not had in a long time. It woke me up, made me feel… alive.”

Her confession has rendered him speechless, again. Julian opens his mouth to speak, closes it, opens it again… then thinks better of it. He raises the bottle to his mouth and takes a generous gulp. Aredhel traces the path of the bubbles as they shimmy to the top of the bottle, and watches as the most slender rivulet of pale gold escapes the side of his mouth and runs down his chin.

When he sets the bottle down he opens his mouth to speak once more, but she stops him—she wraps her fingers around his jaw and tilts it, gently, towards her. Her tongue darts out to catch the errant drop of golden liquor that clings to his skin, and she presses kisses along the trail of lingering sweetness.

If Julian is tired, it has not damped his enthusiasm for this particular pursuit; he turns his head to hers and captures her mouth in his. The taste of him is sweet like the liquor she can feel rushing to her head, making her giddy—making her bold. He has just enough time to set the bottle down on the lip of the fountain behind them before her arms are around him, holding him close, roaming…. Her hands come to settle on his waist, give him a squeeze around his middle, gripping him tight. 

But that’s the wrong place to be holding him—she’s forgotten how ticklish he can be—and, oh, it happens fast, too fast for her to do anything about it. He cants his body forward so abruptly his forehead nearly splits her lip, giggling, breathily, “ _hah, ha, Aredhel_ …” before he slips off the side of the fountain, wriggling free of her grasp and toppling, sideways, right into the fountain water.

His fall sends water splashing onto her skirt, into her face, but she’s only laughing, trying (and failing, miserably) to stifle the sound with her hand. Julian looks so  _undignified,_  soaked through his clothes. His damp, auburn curls bounce, dripping water as he blinks at her in surprise. He’s a good sport about it, though it’s really her fault he fell—he doesn’t blame her, doesn’t curse. Doesn’t look too displeased at all, really.

But—he  _does_ turn to her, and the grin on his face is mischievous.

“Oh, no, don’t you  _dare—_ ”

His long fingers are wrapped around the backs of her knees before she can even finish her warning. A playful yelp of surprise echoes through the treetops as he tugs her, abruptly, off the edge of the fountain and into his lap, straddling his waist. The fountain is deep enough to swallow her nearly to her shoulders, even in Julian’s lap; the fabric of her skirt floats on the surface of the water around them, not yet soaked enough to sink.

Yet the water, she finds, is not so cool as to be uncomfortable. After the initial shock, it’s actually quite pleasant—even more pleasant with Julian underneath her, looking at up at her, so  _pleased_  with himself. He loops his arms loosely around her back, leaning close enough to rub the tip of his nose against hers.

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you,” he croons. “A little dip in the fountain, I said.”

“Well, it’s more pleasant than the water in the aqueduct, anyway,” she tells him, her tone wry. “At least there’s no vampire eels.”

Julian laughs, smoothing his hands down her back. “Is really so bad?”

 _No._ Now that she’s beginning to acclimate, it’s not so bad at all. The gauze of his shirt… clings to him like the cloth of a sculpted Aransi figure hugs its ideal frame. She can make out every inch of him behind the fabric, deliciously sheer now that it’s wet: the shape of his muscles, the bloom of hair on his chest that trails downwards, past his navel, leading the way to—the Golden Goose thrumming through her veins, reducing her to… and every muscle in her body sing-aches sweetly with the drunkenness, and how she loves the feeling of his strong thighs underneath her…! 

“…No,” she admits, “it’s not so bad.”

She’s self-aware enough, though, to realize they are out in the middle of the fountain, in one of the only illuminated parts of the gardens. They would be very easy to spot, should someone come wandering along the garden path. But there’s a little nook against the pillar of the fountain, beneath the halo of water that sprays into the main basin. It won’t exactly hide them, but it will make them easier to miss, and the sound of the fountain water falling around them will drown out some of the distant sounds of the party.

“Come here,” she says, taking his hand in hers and guiding him, beneath the spray of the fountain. The water soaks her, leaves little droplets clinging to her cheeks and eyelashes. No matter. She’s already wet basically from the neck down—a damp head won’t make much difference now.

Julian is more than happy to oblige. She watches the water of the fountain part like a veil as he dips beneath it, a suggestive grin on his face, practically prowling as he backs her up against the nook.

“You’re like a siren, Aredhel,” he says. “Gliding through the water with the grace of a practiced dancer, laying traps with your beauty, luring poor love-struck sailors to their deaths….”

She protests with a terse hum. He is partially correct. She  _had_  laid a trap, and her beauty had perhaps been a part of it, but her goal, the whole time, had been to lure Julian to  _life_. “I’m more interested in tempting innocent men away from grave and unnecessary self-sacrifice, but I’ll take it.”

Julian chuckles lightly, the sound resounding against the marble. “Well, yes, you managed that, too. But you could unmake a man with that face, I think, if you were less benevolent.”

He’s nestled between her legs, each of his hands planted on either side of her waist, holding himself upright. And he is absolutely  _bewitching_ , moisture clinging to his long eyelashes, a seductive grin playing about his lips, his eyes hooded… “I don’t want to unmake you,” she says, quietly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Only please you.”

Before he can get in another quip she tilts her head to his, meets him in a hungry kiss. She brings her hands to his chest, runs them down his sides to his waist, watches the soaked fabric grip and cling and twist before her arms circle him to give his ass a firm squeeze over his too-tight trousers.

His cry of surprise is swallowed, muffled by the kiss, but as he surges forward, pressing his body closer to hers, it lowers into a groan. The sound of splashing water resounds in their sheltered alcove behind the veil of fountain water as she lifts her legs out of the water, high enough to hitch around his waist, to grind her hips against hers. She bites back a pleasured whine; Julian gasps—in the deepest heat of summer, with the thin fabric of both their clothes soaked through, the feel of him against her does not leave much to the imagination.

At once, Julian goes rigid above her. The muscles of his shoulders begin to tremble—whether from pleasure, or the exertion of keeping himself suspended above her, she cannot tell. He pulls far enough away from her face to give her a look of longing, dark with desire, before he winds a hand around her neck and pulls her into a ravenous kiss, lowering his hips to press them once more against hers.

She can feel her body coiling tight with arousal, her cheeks turning rosy. Oh, she is  _drunk_ , reckless and loose in a way she hasn’t been since this all started—until now, she has been always on her guard,  _vigilant_ …still, she thinks, its probably best not to throw away caution entirely. 

She pulls away from the kiss, but this is not enough to discourage him. He presses kisses to her throat, moaning against her skin, rutting against her… she winds her hands in the cloth of his shirt, pressing her mouth to his ear. 

“Julian, if we don’t stop, I fear we won’t make it back to the party.”

When he pulls his face out of her neck he’s breathing hard. “I don't want to go back to the party,” he breaths against her cheek, his voice desperate. A blush reddens his cheeks as he adds, almost timidly, “I want you. I just want you.”

The words wipe her mind momentarily blank; she clutches him closer. She wants him, too. And she's drunk enough to be careless, foolhardy, and he is  _so beautiful_. What are the chances they will be caught, here? They've already been at the fountain for at least five minutes and they haven't seen nor heard a soul—

Still, there are about a couple hundred drunken Vesuvians wandering the grounds, and they're not exactly hidden away somewhere discreet. 

But she wants him. So badly. She's wanted him like this long before there was ever a hope she'd have him, wanted him since she patted him down in the alley outside her shop, hands roaming over his hips, his broad shoulders. Probably she’s wanted him even longer, if she's being honest—as ridiculous, as  _inappropriate_  as it had been, she’d felt a spark of attraction towards him the night before, too.

She thinks of the last time they were here.  _"I want to ravish you,"_  he'd said in the library, and just because of the look on his face, she decided she'd let him. She'd only just pulled his cock out of his pants when Nadia had come to the door—

But she doesn't care. Not anymore. 

“You can have me,” she tells him, arcing off the fountain to kiss her body against his. “All of me. I want you, too. I don't want to wait any more.”

His eye widens in surprise, a cautiously optimistic grin twitching across his lips. “Here?” he asks, like he can’t quite believe it.  “Now?”

She nods. 

Julian’s breath shudders out of him, and he trails his hand down from its perch on her neck to the small of her waist, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her flush to him. His mouth lavishes kisses upon her neck, her collar, charting a path between her breasts.

“I owe you everything,” he declares, his voice wavering with emotion. “My life, my happiness—I give them all to you.” He tilts his head up to gaze at her, biting his lip, grinning. “For the first time in a long time, Aredhel, my future looks… bright. I can't wait to find out what's in store for us.”

And this—the way he’s looking at her now, so full of hope and glee—she loves this look as deeply as she loves the dark ones, the looks of yearning, all sensual intent. It’s rarer.  _But not for long_ , she thinks. She cannot say, does not know what the future holds for them, but she knows that at every turn she will try to make him look like this. Happy. Unburdened.  

“Julian, let me—” she wriggles her hands between them, attacks the knot of the sash at his waist. But the cloth is tied so tight, and it’s so wet… she gives Julian a pleading look. “Help.”

“Okay,” he breathes, and the fountain water splashes around them as he raises himself onto his kneeds and rapidly unties the dash about his waist. "I,  _yes_ —okay."

He only unfastens his trousers far enough to pull out his cock, and then he leans over her again, pressing himself between her legs. She hums in delight; the feel of him, even through her underwear, is delicious, and that little detail that dares to come between them is easily taken care of. The pair she wears is unobtrusive enough that she can simply push them aside far enough for him to—but first, she wants to touch him. To  _feel_ him. 

She reaches between their bodies and takes his cock in hand. 

Julian trembles as she strokes him, the gesture exaggerated by how every quiver disturbs the water around him. His head falls forward, his forehead kissing her shoulder; a low moan escapes him. "Aredhel—oh, you—you're—"

But then, a gasp—and this sound, pitched higher and cast from across the fountain, belongs to neither Aredhel nor Julian.

"Oh, fuck," Julian whispers, (more terrified, she thinks, than mortified—an old habit, the terror of capture still clutching to him, even now that he is safe) as he tucks himself back into his pants and pulls away from Aredhel. His cheeks are already flushed with arousal—even the tips of his ears are blushing—but his blush only deepens when he realizes just who it is that has caught them. 

Standing not ten feet away, at the edge of the fountain, are Nadia's sisters, Princesses Nasmira and Navra. 

Nasmira's hand is covering her mouth—she must have been the one who has gasped in surprise. But rather than looking scandalized, or offended, from the bit of her face Aredhel can make out Nasmira only looks faintly amused. Like Julian, however, she, too, is blushing. 

“Doctor Devorak,” she says. Her voice is musical, carries not a trace of condemnation nor judgement in its tone. “Aredhel.”

Nasmira is cordial, discrete—but Navra is utterly unabashed. “Aredhel, Doctor—your auras are positively glowing!” She waves at them excitedly, then flutters her hands in some approximation of what their auras must look like to her. “The dance of the energies around you—it is breathtakingly beautiful! Please, do not let my sister and I disturb you. It was not our intention to intrude.”

“We'll take another path around the palace gardens,” Nasmira adds, folding her hands together in front of her. 

Julian, usually so quick with a witty quip or comeback, is struck silent. Aredhel glances back at the Satrinava sisters, races her hand to wave towards them. “Thank you!” she calls after them, her voice perhaps a  _bit_  too loud. Then, more meekly, “And, sorry…”

“No trouble at all, young Aredhel!” Navra replies over her shoulder, and waves goodbye as she walks away with her sister. “Enjoy this most beautiful evening, Doctor!”

A shell-shocked silence follows their departure, broken only by the babbling of the fountain, as eloquent as Julian usually is. But even after the sisters have disappeared in the dark, he is still silent, his eye wide, his face still sixty different shades of pink. 

“Julian?” Aredhel asks, pushing off from the fountain pillar and pursuing him out into the main reservoir. “Are you ok?”

At first he looks as though he hasn’t even heard her—he does not turn to the sound of her voice, does not so much as twitch. Then, out of nowhere, he laughs. And the sound of it is so loud, and uninhibited, and true, it makes Aredhel’s chest ache with mixed relief and joy. He turns to her, smiling sheepishly.

“I've been a free man for but a few hours, Aredhel, and already, I'm getting caught misbehaving again.” He laughs again, throwing his head back, running a hand through his damp hair to knock it out of his face. Amusement, not doubt, colors his voice when he asks her:

“You're sure you want to be with me? I'm trouble, you know.”

Aredhel only smiles at him. Glides across the fountain and arranges herself between his legs in front of him, throwing her arms loosely around him before she pulls him close, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“I like a little trouble,” she purrs, running her hand down his chest. “Especially the kind I end up in with you.”

Julian grins in delight, tugs her closer. 

“What do you say we, uhh, go find somewhere else?” he asks, rubbing circles at the small of her back. “Get ourselves into trouble someplace a little more private.”

“I'd love to,” Aredhel says. Then, after a thought, “Nadia's still giving me a bedroom, here. But if that's too weird for you—with the trial, and your memories, if it's too soon—”

“Wait, wait. You’re telling me you’ve got a room here? In the palace?” Julian asks. “Aredhel, that's  _right here_ , what are we waiting for?”

Julian leaps to his feet, tugging her up beside him with ease. Then he bends, tucking his arm behind her knees and sweeping her into his arms, carrying her hastily to the edge of the fountain. He’s moving so quickly—with such  _haste_ —she worries he might trip, but he doesn’t. Gently, he deposits her at the edge of the basin, then barrels over the edge, diving for his shoes.

He’s so eager—it’s infectious. Aredhel scoops up her shoes but doesn’t put them on before running across the lawn, relishing the tickle of grass on her bare feet, heading towards the veranda. 

"Come on!" she calls over her shoulder, turning to look back at him when her feet hit the marble of the steps. Teasing him, “Your legs are twice as long as mine, what’s slowing you?”

Nothing dire. He’s just paused to gather his boots, grasped the rest of the sparkling liquor to bring with them, but something about it... Julian, sopping from head to toes, the water catching the light like diamonds as it shakes free of him, with the goofiest, most moon-struck grin, and the light of the fountain water dancing on his face....

He is free. He is free, and he is so beautiful that for a minute Aredhel forgets to breath. 

“What? What is it?” he asks, his voice playful as he crosses the lawn towards her. But it’s hard to find the words. 

Her answer comes broken, the meaning more in her tone of voice than the words themselves when she tells him, “I’m just—I am so, so happy you are safe. Hearing you call yourself a free man…”

Her mouth hangs open, useless, unable to finish the thought. But that’s okay. Julian gets it—he feels that way, too. It's so big, such a change after so long, it's a little hard to believe it's real. But he's got nothing to add—nothing intelligible, anyway—so he only curls his free hand around her neck and kisses her, long and deep.

His mouth lingers close to hers even after he pulls away from the kiss, lips curling into another, incorrigible grin. “Not that free,” he says, a suggestive lilt in his voice. “Free in the eyes of the law, maybe, but there are other cages. And well, I admit… I've locked the door to this one myself.” His hand finds hers and raises it to his mouth so that he can press a kiss to her palms. “You see, I've given my heart away to someone,” he whispers, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile. “I am hers.”

Aredhel does not consider herself to be the sentimental type. But these affections leave her throat feeling tight, her eyes stinging with tears. “She cherishes it very much,” Aredhel replies, voice barely above a whisper. “She promises to be gentle with it.”

Julian sighs sweetly, leans forward to kiss her brow. “Ahh, Aredhel,” he breathes against her skin. “I know you will.”

Still, this tenderness—though warm, and delightful—has not tempered his eagerness to take her into the castle, to lie with her where no one will intrude. He wants her—he loves her. He laces their fingers together, tugging her up the marble steps, into the palace.

“Now show me where we might find this room of yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> hello I love one (1) dork
> 
> if you enjoyed this piece, please consider checking me out on tumblr (4biddenleeches) where I am always open for prompts. :) crawl into my inbox and yell w/me about my favorite disaster doctor


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